


A Cabin in the Woods (But Not Like That)

by kitausu



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Andrew writes mystery novels, Attempt at Humor, Cabin Fic, Canon-Typical Violence, Companionable Snark, First Meetings, Fluff, Hiking, Humor, M/M, Neil wants to escape his past, Professional Exy Player Neil Josten, Writer Andrew Minyard, there is a cabin in the woods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23833525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitausu/pseuds/kitausu
Summary: Neil just wants to get away. Away from the cameras, from the attention, from the fact that his father's face is on the cover of every newspaper, magazine, and website as far as Neil can see.Andrew has a deadline coming up for the next installment in his mystery novel series, and everything and everyone he knows is a distraction.They're supposed to spend a month in a cabin together, splitting the cost without actually interacting. Things never do go to plan.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 52
Kudos: 210





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure what this is, but I just had this idea of them being soft with each other and meeting away from the world.

There was already a crowd forming at the trailhead when Neil pulled into the parking lot next to an idling Maserati. The tour guide company had sworn up and down that there would be ten people _max_ on this expedition, but Neil counted an easy 20.

“Fuck,” Neil groaned, knocking his head lightly against the steering wheel of his BMW.

The only thing stopping Neil from turning around was the fact that Allison would shoot him in the ass if he cost her her reputation. She had supposedly pulled a lot of strings for Neil’s identity to be kept secret, and for absolutely no Exy fans to be allowed in his group.

It was a feat Neil couldn’t even begin to guess how she had managed, but he foresaw hell in his future if he let it go to waste.

Neil glanced surreptitiously over at the car next time. The windows were tinted too dark to make out more than a vague shape, but Neil appreciated the sleek lines of the car. He could hear a faint thumping of music Neil thought he recognized, but couldn’t seem to place.

There was movement in Neil’s peripheral vision on the other side of the car, and he sighed in relief as the other hikers left. All but one person had sidled off to another trail head, so a woman with short blond hair was the only one left standing at the trail. The thumping from the car stopped abruptly, and Neil watched as the door swung open and a short, blond man stepped smoothly out of the car.

Neil half expected him to look at Neil, but he was busy adjusting the camera bag over his shoulder as he walked over to who Neil now assumed was their guide.

This was the last chance Neil would have to pull out of the parking lot and go home. Maybe a group of three was actually worse than 20. Maybe it would be worth Allison’s wrath to give it up as a bad job and go home. Maybe he should just run laps at the court for hours and face everything head on.

But then Neil thought about all the newspapers sitting on his kitchen bar, his father’s face splashed across the front, his old name printed in bold type. Nathaniel Wesninski. The Butcher’s Son.

Neil grabbed the new black hoodie from the passenger seat and pulled it over his head. He had bought it last night to replace his Chicago Bears team hoodie. The Exy charm had been removed from his keys, and he had borrowed one of Matt’s plain backpacks. For the next month he wasn’t Neil Josten, striker for the Chicago Bears. He wasn’t Nathaniel Wesninski, the Butcher’s son. He was Neil, no last name. He was no one. He was nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Neil turned off the car, and opened the door.

\--

Renee was fiddling with a clipboard when Andrew approached her. She grinned when he stopped and unceremoniously threw his duffle at her feet.

“Andrew, I’m glad you made it!” Renee smiled serenely, placing a fat checkmark next to his name.

Andrew ignored the greeting. “Is it just me?”

Shaking her head, Renee gestured behind Andrew. “Just one more.”

He could see now that only two names were listed on the clipboard, and Andrew wondered why she even bothered marking them off.

By the time Andrew turned to look, Neil fucking Josten had already made his way up to them. He nodded slightly at each of them, before focusing in on Renee and her official looking clipboard.

“I’m—” Neil started, but Renee was already checking his name off the list.

“Neil, right?”

Neil looked taken aback, his hand paused in mid-air.

As if sensing his discomfort, Renee continued, “Lucky guess! You’re the only other person on the trip.”

Andrew watched as Neil visibly tried to reconcile that information, his discomfort sliding behind a cool façade that Andrew had seen many times during press briefings. Neil looked different in real life then he did through the flat lens of a TV screen. He seemed more fidgety, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for them to get going. Typically, Neil moved smoothly on the screen, predatory almost. Andrew couldn’t help but think of prey when he watched Neil’s hands begin to shake.

A flash of irritation sparked through Andrew that he remembered so much about Neil’s facial tics and body language.

In fact, the only reason he even knew who Neil was could be blamed on Aaron. Stupid fucking Aaron who couldn’t handle even two seconds of silence when they met and turned on whatever _game_ was playing at the time. It was the only way Andrew could account for the fact that he knew who Neil Josten even was, darling of the Exy world, recently outed son of a crime lord, and currently a thorn in Andrew’s side.

Renee didn’t have to say a word for Andrew to know they weren’t supposed to know who Neil was. It was evident in the way he kept tucking his head down into the collar of his hoodie, and scanning the area around them. It wasn’t even as if Andrew cared. If some idiot jock wanted to galivant in the woods for a month, what did it matter to Andrew? 

For the next month Andrew’s entire plan was to lock himself in his room at the cabin and write for 30 straight days. With any luck, he wouldn’t even know that Neil was there.

\--

It was a ten-mile hike out to the cabin that Neil had rented, well, half rented anyway. Andrew, the guy from the Maserati, and apparently rented out the other half for some kind of writer’s retreat. Not that Andrew had said a single word to him since they met.

Renee, their tour guide, had done all of the chatting when they first started on their hike.

“You know, Neil, Andrew is a really wonderful writer. Maybe you’ve read some of his books?” Renee offered as they approached the first mile marker.

“Uh…I don’t really, I mean…” Neil hesitated.

What was he supposed to say? That he only read trashy mystery novels? That his favorite author was AJ Minyard, the guy who wrote middle aged dad books? Dan and Matt had given him enough shit for that.

Andrew snorted quietly under his breath and Neil felt his irritation spike. “I don’t read. Can’t, actually. Never learned.”

It was a bold face, outright lie, but the look of shock on Renee’s face was worth it, and Andrew had shut up, so Neil was feeling pretty good about himself.

“Hello, Jared,” Andrew mumbled under his breath.

“What?” Neil snapped, rounding on Andrew and stopping half in front of him so Andrew would either have to stop or walk around him. “What the hell do you read, then?”

Andrew cocked his head, eyes impassive as he replied, “Who said I could read?”

Neil didn’t even bother to stop him when Andrew stepped around him and followed Renee further up the trail.

The laugh surprised Neil more than anyone, bursting out of him as he turned to find Andrew and Renee waiting at a bend in the trail a few meters ahead.

“Are you on drugs?” Andrew asked, when Neil jogged up to them again, still chuckling under his breath.

Neil shrugged. “No.”

It looked as if Andrew was about to say something else, but Renee clapped her hands together to get their attention. “Nine more miles, guys! Let’s go!”

When Andrew walked away without a word, Neil followed without complaint. At least this month wasn’t going to be boring.

\--

At the halfway point Renee led them over to a rickety looking picnic table a few steps off the path. When Neil got closer, he could see that several people had carved their initials into the wood, along with a series of crude flowers and hearts, and maybe a penis or two.

“Cute,” Neil said on autopilot.

It was something he had picked up from Matt and Dan, but he could see it was unexpected by the light smile Renee shot him and the slight tick of Andrew’s jaw.

When it was clear Neil had no plans to say anything further, Renee took a seat at the table. “What did you bring for lunch, Neil?”

Neil sat, pulling a vegetable wrap out of his bag and a bottle of tomato juice to show.

“Good choices!” Renee showed off her sandwich and chips, which Neil only nodded at.

Andrew seemed to have only brought a king-sized snickers bar, which he was picking apart with his fingers into careful bite sized pieces. Neil took a bite of his wrap and stared in mild horror as the chocolate melted in the heat and stained Andrew’s fingers.

“At least you’ll be you!” Renee laughed, gesturing towards Andrew’s “lunch.”

The confusion Neil was feeling must have been plain on his face because Renee tried to clarify. “You know, the commercials?”

Neil only shook his head slowly. Andrew popped another bite of chocolate into his mouth and stared just past Neil’s right ear.

\--

The rest of the hike was mostly quiet. Renee would occasionally point out an interesting bird, or flower, but for the most part they were all quiet.

Neil kept expecting Andrew to pull his camera out of the bag, but Andrew only grunted, or even outright ignored, most of the sites Renee pointed out. The only time Andrew stopped was at the hollow of a large tree.

Curious, Neil watched as Andrew took several photos of the roots, the hollow space at the bottom, and the deep knot halfway up the trunk. Andrew put the camera back into his bag without a word and started up the trail without them.

When Neil caught up, Andrew ignored him for as long as he could.

Neil finally caved and asked, “What was that for?”

“A place to hide your body.”

Renee inhaled sharply behind them, but Neil only nodded. “Good to be prepared.”

If Neil was being generous with himself, he might have said he almost got Andrew to laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I added the tag for canon typical violence for this fic so please watch out!

It was still mostly dark when Neil slipped his sneakers on. The gun tucked under Neil’s pillow still had the safety on, but Neil picked it up gingerly. He was good with guns, had no choice but to become a crack shot, but that didn’t mean he liked them all that much.

The closet in the bedroom had a stack of blankets piled almost to the ceiling on the top shelf, and Neil was just tall enough to slip the gun between the lowest two blankets. He didn’t trust Andrew not to go through his things, or to not find the gun if it was still tucked beneath the pillows on his bed.

The room was more decorated than anywhere Neil had ever lived, including his apartment in Chicago. There were faux flowers on the side table, and framed photos of the mountains on every wall. Even in the dim light Neil could still make out the sunshine yellow of the painted walls.

It baffled him a little that people put so much effort into decorating a house, especially one they didn’t even life in. A house was just a place where you could lock the door at night and feel safe enough to sleep. Curtains, at least, had a function, but paint did nothing. 

Neil unlocked the bedroom door and winced when it creaked loudly as he pushed it open. The hall was dark, and Neil crept silently into the living room. The large windows looking out over the forest showed the deep purple of an early morning sky over the tree tops.

He was trying to be quiet and not wake Andrew up if he could help it. Their bedrooms were on opposite sides of the house, but Neil was a light sleeper and naturally assumed everyone else was, too. There was evidence that Andrew had been in here at some point after Neil had gone to bed. A blanket was crumpled on the floor, an empty container of ice cream was knocked over on the coffee table. 

Neil frowned and fought the impulse to clean it up. Instead, he checked carefully to see if any light was seeping out from under Andrew’s door, but the hallway on the other side of the living room was completely dark.

Creeping forward a few steps, Neil peaked into the kitchen, but even in the dim light it was obvious no one was there. Neil back tracked to the front door and snagged one of the two sets of keys from the entry way table to lock it behind him.

Out here on the porch, with the birds slowly waking up, the air clean and fresh, Neil took a breath and finally, _finally,_ felt like he could breath. Renee had pointed out a trail head a few meters from their door, and Neil set off at a brisk run through the arching cover of trees. The _crunch crunch_ of leaves and old gravel under Neil’s running shoes was methodical, pounding in time with the beat of his heart. His breathing was slow and steady as his shoes ate mile after mile, propelling him deeper into the forest before curving around.

The trail was roughly eight miles, casting a wide circuit around the house, and Neil thrilled in the muted noise of the forest. No sirens, no phones, no cars, no people, nothing demanding his time. No news to catch him off guard, no screens to show him a face Neil already saw every night in his nightmares.

By the time Neil made it back to the house his mind was blissfully blank, content and quiet as he slowed to a stop now on the other side of the clearing.

Andrew was out on the porch, huffing through pushups easily enough to impress even Neil. There was no doubt in Neil’s mind that Andrew had heard him, but he flopped down in the grass to stretch, taking the time to inspect his new housemate.

The level of muscle Andrew must have in his back and shoulders surprised Neil, given Andrew’s height. That was maybe hypocritical, but there was no stopping first impressions. Keeping his eyes on Andrew, Neil reached for his toes and grabbed the sides of his feet. Andrew’s shoulders were broad…goalie broad, actually.

Neil looked down at his knees to deepen the stretch and heard Andrew stand up and take the stairs down off the porch in a slow, almost lazy pace. When Neil looked up, Andrew was only a few feet away, an unlit cigarette in his hand.

Neil crossed his legs and leaned back on his hands so he could gaze up at Andrew more easily. The sharp tang of tobacco filled the air as Neil watched Andrew pull a lighter out of his pocket to lite the cigarette and take a long slow drag.

The arch of Andrew’s eyebrow was all the warning Neil got before he blew the smoke directly in Neil’s face. “Something to say?”

For a second, Neil pondered the question before rolling his neck slowly. “Got another one?”

Andrew inclined his head before pulling a loose cigarette out of his pocket and tossing it and the lighter into Neil’s lap. Neil sat up to grab both, tossing the lighter aside in favor of turning the unlit cigarette over and over in his hands.

“Do you play Exy?” Neil finally asked the cigarette. 

Scoffing, Andrew turned on his heel and stalked back inside.

Neil looked up in time to smile at Andrew’s retreating back. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Andrew slammed the door.

\---

When Neil eventually followed Andrew into the house, he made a beeline for the kitchen. Andrew was sitting at the bar, a bowl of some sugary cereal and milk slowly being decimated at his hands. Part of what Neil (and he assumed Andrew) had paid for was a fully stocked kitchen, but for a second Neil actually worried that the box of Sugar Puffs next to Andrew was all he would find in the pantry.

Catching Neil’s gaze, Andrew rolled his eyes and gestured at the fridge with his spoon, splattering the counter with off-white milk. “Check the fridge.”

For a second, Neil wanted to walk out of the kitchen, just to be contrary. But he was hungry, and curious enough to follow directions. Neil was glad he was rewarded with two cartons of eggs, mushrooms, spinach, and cheese to make an omelet.

Even in an unfamiliar kitchen, it was easy for Neil to settle into his old routine, heating a pan he found in the cabinets, cracking the eggs, chopping up mushrooms. It was second nature, the same breakfast he ate every morning at home, but he never forgot the feeling of a stranger’s eyes on his back.

“Something to say?” Neil parroted at Andrew, his back still to the other man.

After a moment’s pause, long enough for Neil to tip the omelet onto his plate, Andrew declared him _boring_ and headed back to his room. Neil shrugged, taking his plate to the couch. Kevin had a game on in a few minutes, and despite Neil’s every intention to disconnect from the outside world, this wasn’t something he was willing to give up just yet.

Andrew spent the rest of the day locked in his room. If he ever came out, Neil didn’t see him. Eventually Neil went to bed, and their first day together passed, uneventful at best.

\---

Despite Neil’s original assessment that this trip would be anything but boring, the first week was exactly that. Neil ran every morning, working out in alcoves in the forest, always catching the tail end of Andrew’s workout when he got back. They would eat breakfast “together” in the loosest of terms, before Andrew would disappear to his room, and Neil would entertain himself with random books around the house or old Exy games on TV.

It was easy, methodical. It was boring in a way Neil’s life had never been, and he was surprised by how much he enjoyed the process.

It was on Neil’s eighth night at the cabin that he remembered who he was.

\---

There was blood on Neil’s hands, on his face, in his eyes, dripping down his neck into the collar of his shirt. His arms had gone numb seconds, minutes, hours ago, the heat of the slashes along his forearms had burned everything away to nothing.

Neil wasn’t even human anymore.

He was one giant nerve, pushed past its breaking point. His throat was raw from a scream he no longer heard. He had gone silent.

There was no voice.

There was no Neil.

There was only…laughter. Deep, insidious, laughter.

_Nathaniel, I’m home._

\---

The gun was in Neil’s hand before he had even opened his eyes, trained at the door by instinct alone. Sweat was running heavily down Neil’s face and neck, too thin to be blood, but close enough that Neil used his free hand to swipe at his skin.

For one single breath Neil refused to look down at his hand, fearing he would see the deep red of blood. But it was just sweat. Turning cold on Neil’s skin where it slicked his shirt to his back, but still, it was only sweat.

Neil stood up and checked the door, but it was still closed and locked. No one else was in the room except for Neil. Neil and his demons, always sharing the same space, sharing the same breath.

There was no way Neil was going to get back to sleep after that. He opened the door, intent on grabbing a glass of water. He was too shaken up to register the blue glow of the TV in the living room, or that it might mean Andrew was awake until he saw the back door was open. The same fear from before lurched up in Neil, and he cursed himself for leaving the gun tangled up in his sheets.

Contingency plans filled Neil’s head as he quickly searched for an escape.

A cigarette flared out on the back porch, faintly illuminating Andrew’s face where he was staring Neil down. The relief was almost as sickening as the fear. Neil slumped forward, bracing himself on the back of an arm chair beside him. Some infomercial was playing quietly on the screen to his left, promising that he would never have to buy paper towels again.

Without looking at Andrew, Neil walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. It was room temperature, but felt nearly ice cold on Neil’s parched throat and mouth. The red letters of the microwave blinked 3:17am. Too early to wake up, but too late to go back to sleep.

When Neil turned around, he could still see Andrew through the frame of the open door. Andrew took another drag, the smoke filtering into the living room, made visible by the flashing TV screen.

Neil knew it was stupid, that he should go back to his room, where it was safe, or as safe as Neil had ever been. But Neil was an instigator, and he couldn’t stop himself from walking out onto the porch. He kept a good several feet between him and Andrew, but Andrew turned to continue blowing smoke in his direction.

Not even the birds were awake, just the quiet murmur of nocturnal insects the only sound between them.

“How much did you hear?” Neil asked, unsure even of himself how much had been in his dream, and how much he had screamed out loud.

Andrew said nothing, but Neil held his hand out when Andrew proffered him a cigarette.

“Light it this time,” Andrew chastised, and Neil didn’t have the energy to disobey.

Standing out there on the back porch of a cabin in the woods with a stranger, Neil took the first drag of a cigarette since his mom had died.

\---

Somewhere between the birds waking up and the sun peaking over the sky, Neil left to change and go for his run. His skin itched unbearably. He needed to run, to escape, even if it was just on the same eight mile stretch of trail he had run every day for a week.

When he made it back, Neil only felt slightly better, and Andrew was nowhere to be found in the clearing. Neil huffed, irritated for reasons he felt no desire to understand. He didn’t have long to look before he found Andrew in the kitchen with his customary bowl of cereal, and Neil’s omelet already made and on a plate beside him.

“Andrew?”

Andrew refused to look up. “Shut up and eat your garbage.”

Without a word, Neil settled into the only other seat at the kitchen bar. They ate in silence, and when Andrew left for his room again Neil called after him, “Thanks.”

“Fuck you,” Andrew hissed, before slamming the door.

When Neil settled down to read for the day, he realized the buzzing under his skin was just a little bit less.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Panic attack from PTSD is described here! It doesn't get too gruesome, but it is the main point of the chapter. Please be safe!

The next night Neil woke up and scrubbed his hands under the running water of the bathroom sink until his knuckles burned red. He stopped just short of cracking skin, but still felt like he could see the blood under his nails and in the crevices of his palm.

When he finally left his room, Neil found Andrew in the kitchen at half past 2am. There was a long, serrated knife in Andrew’s hand that he was swinging around him in slow motion stabs in the air. The tiled floor was entirely soaked with water, and Andrew was splashing around in the puddles in his bare feet. The bottoms of Andrew’s pajama pants were complete soaked, dripping everywhere when he stepped over one of the several mangled plastic bags on the floor, only to splash down again with greater force.

The sight of Andrew with a knife should have sent Neil into a panic, and for a second it almost did. But Andrew looked nothing like Nathan. He was too short, too blond, and too apathetic when his gaze finally settled on Neil. There was no way that Neil could picture that same cruel smirk, or the delight in Nathan’s eyes transposed onto Andrew’s expressionless face.

“What.” Andrew asked, but all of the inflection of a question had fled the scene, so it felt more like a statement that Neil didn’t feel particularly inclined to answer.

More like _You’re bothering me,_ than anything else.

“What?” Neil parroted back instead, making it a question as he took a seat at the kitchen bar.

It took so long for Andrew to answer, Neil folded his arms in front of him and considered closing his eyes again. Maybe the joke was too much for Andrew to process so early in the morning, it sure was for Neil.

Andrew’s voice cut harshly enough to bring Neil’s gaze up from he had begun to contemplate his palms.

“Research.”

Neil waited, but no other explanation seemed forthcoming.

Propping his chin in one hand, Neil surveyed the soggy carnage on the floor. “Research on…killing bags of water?”

Andrew rolled his eyes and crouched down in the overflowing puddles. “Blood spray.”

The response was so unexpected, Neil almost had to laugh. There were a million and one questions on the tip of Neil’s tongue, starting with _how_ and ending in _really?_ He settled simply on, “why?”

Andrew sighed heavily, as if Neil’s very existence was a trial to even contemplate, let alone experience. It became evident that Andrew had no intention of responding to this question, so Neil finally did fold his arms and drop his head down as if going back to sleep.

There were a number of things Neil maybe would have said, if he had been more awake. Something along the lines of the fact that there was no earthly possible way stabbing bags of water would simulate blood from a human body, came quickly to mind. Or that Neil had actually witnessed blood spray, and that simulation would never capture what it truly looked like, felt like, when it hit you across the face.

In fact, the difference was so stark, Neil barely felt even a trimmer of anxiety at the sight of Andrew continuing to wield a knife with such obvious expertise. Hell, maybe Andrew did know, and was just pulling Neil’s leg. But Neil didn’t want to talk about that. He wanted to sleep, even if his body refused to cooperate. He wanted a breakfast burrito, even though he hadn’t had one in years. And he wanted Andrew to continue splashing around in their rented kitchen, ruining the grout on the tile and probably losing their deposit all in one go.

If Neil had been more awake, he might have seen the quick glance Andrew threw him, but Neil’s head was suddenly immeasurably heavy, and Andrew was still making a world of noise and it just didn’t matter anymore.

Neil would acknowledge, later, that it may have made more sense for him to go back to his own room, and rest his head on something a little more standard, like a pillow, or a bed. But the splashing sound of Andrew’s feet shuffling around was oddly soothing, turning to white noise in Neil’s ears.

There was no firm line between awake and asleep. There was the thought that Neil still didn’t know Andrew’s last name, and then Neil had just gone to sleep, somewhere between one splash and the next.

The sun was streaming through the kitchen window when Neil jolted awake. Something had rapped smartly against the side of his head, scaring Neil enough to reach for the gun that was still tucked away in another room.

Andrew was hovering over him, the blade of a butter knife in his hand, the handle clearly having just been used to tap Neil in the temple. “Go back to your room.”

Ignoring him, Neil looked around Andrew’s broad shoulders to inspect the kitchen. He was surprised to find the floor completely dry. No one but Neil and Andrew would know that a swampy body of plastic bags and tap water had temporarily inhabited the space.

Andrew rapped Neil across the knuckles with the hilt of the knife this time, hard enough to sting. Neil winced and sucked his fingers into his mouth on reflex.

“What the fuck?” Neil mumbled, mouth still full of his own knuckles as he glared Andrew’s way.

“I said, go back to your room.”

There was a crick in Neil’s neck, likely from sleeping with his head pillowed on his arms while seated at a bar stool. But it was enough to make Neil stubborn and recalcitrant. Without a word, he stood from his place, skirting Andrew before plopping face first on the couch.

There was no reply, but Andrew’s silent _really?_ felt loud enough that he might as well have said it out loud. 

Neil knew he was being petulant, but it still didn’t stop him from snagging the blanket Andrew had left on the floor and wrapping himself up like a burrito. The pillow that hit Neil in the side of the head bounced harmlessly off of him and onto the floor, but Neil still lifted one hand out of his cocoon to shoot Andrew the finger (or, wherever he _thought_ Andrew was standing since he refused to even glance his way).

There were no more sailing projectiles, but Neil could hear Andrew banging around in the kitchen. The TV was already on, muted with subtitles, rolling through the morning news. The remote was on the other side of the living room, nestled in the armchair.

Neil knew instantly that he was playing with fire. He hadn’t watched the news in months, not since someone had thoughtlessly turned it on in the locker room and Nathan Wesninski had stared out at Neil from the comfort of a courtroom chair.

They had let him wear a suit.

That detail had struck Neil more than anything, more than even the little uncaring smirk his father kept shooting the camera.

They had let Nathan wear a suit.

But the news anchors were different on the screen, all women instead of men. And they were talking about some fluff piece on animal shelters, or animal charities, or maybe just people who had pets. Neil wasn’t really reading the subtitles, but the screen flashed pictures of puppies and kittens held by children interspersed with images of those same animals in sad little cages.

The blanket was soft, and Neil closed his eyes for just a second. Long enough for the story to change, long enough that by the time Neil opened his eyes the weather report was ending, long enough to see his own face now in the preview box at the top right of the screen.

Neil tried to read the subtitles, he genuinely did, but they were mostly a blur. Neil Josten, Nathaniel Wesninski, disappeared. It had to be coming, Neil knew it was coming. He should get up and turn off the Tv. He knew at the very least that he should close his eyes, but instead they burned, refusing to even blink.

There was a sick churning need in Neil’s stomach, like he had to watch this, no matter what it cost him. He knew, somewhere in his head, that he didn’t. There was no reason to watch. He already knew the outcome, but his body refused to obey, staying stationary on the couch.

The image of Neil went to full screen, a clip from some game he barely remembered, before Nathan’s mug shot took over. He wasn’t in a suit any longer, all semblance of false respectability stripped from him. He looked haggard, wild, angry. He was snarling at the screen, the pretense of respectable business man long forgotten.

The Butcher was there, in full HD glory. 

The clip they showed next was of his sentencing: death row. It was a wish that Neil had never allowed himself to truly want. He should be elated, but for all of that, he couldn’t stop focusing on the lack of a suit, on the pinch between his father’s eyebrows.

No suits anymore. Just Nathan, as he was.

The camera panned in on Nathan’s face, zooming closer, and…and…then…black.

Neil startled, suddenly aware of how harsh his breathing had grown, how there really was blood under his nails now. He had dug so harshly into the palms of his hands he had broken skin. When Neil looked around, he half expected to find himself back at home, a child again, everything he had built an illusion.

His father waiting for him in the basement for another lesson.

All he found was Andrew, standing in front of the TV now with the remote in one hand. Andrew had apparently turned the screen off, and was watching Neil impassively. There was a plate with an omelet in his other hand.

“Interesting,” Andrew said, quietly enough he almost didn’t say it at all.

Neil bit down hard enough on his lip that the taste of blood filled his mouth. Another memory he didn’t want. Another mistake.

Andrew sat the plate down on the coffee table, directly in front of Neil’s eyes. There was a fork draped haphazardly over the food, pressing an indent into the soft egg. Andrew walked away and came back with a cup of orange juice, setting it roughly down so little drops sloshed over the side of the glass, mixing with the condensation. 

The command was obvious, even without Andrew pointing sharply at the food.

It was expected when Andrew walked away. It was the norm they had established. Besides, Neil couldn’t seem to get ahold of his breathing, or unfreeze his muscles where they had locked tight around the blanket. He wouldn’t want to be around him either. 

But Andrew came back only a few minutes later, laptop in his hands, stunning Neil enough that he was able to catch his breath from surprise.

They didn’t exchange a single word for the rest of the day. The room remained almost dead silent except for the overly aggressive way that Andrew tapped out on the keys of his laptop. The computer moved wildly where it was perched on Andrew’s knees, each letter sending it jolting this way or that.

Neil felt hypnotized by the movement, expecting it to fall any minute, but Andrew seemed unphased and plugged away.

Eventually, Neil realized that he was hungry. It wasn’t a slow realization, but one that grabbed him harder and faster than any hit. That happened sometimes after an attack. His body had used up every ounce of energy left inside of him, even without moving, leaving him as hungry as if he had run for hours.

The egg was definitely cold by now, the cheese congealed on the side of the plate. It didn’t stop Neil from sitting up and grabbing the plate for himself. He used his lap as a table, mimicking Andrew as he slowly ate the food. It tasted like wet sludge in his mouth, but Neil was too hungry to stop until the plate was virtually licked clean.

Throughout all of this Andrew’s typing barely stopped, the clicking rising and falling in sound as Neil’s focus wandered. He sat the plate down, and Andrew paused. Neil could feel eyes on the side of his face, but didn’t turn to look.

The idea of going back to his room, while maybe the right thing to do, seemed insurmountable. The energy from the egg had been just enough to let Neil lay back down and pull the blanket up over his chin.

A distant part of Neil thought how he should have been disgusted by himself, by letting a stranger see him like this. But Andrew’s reaction, or maybe lack thereof, had gone a long way to keeping that voice silent. Neil let himself stare at the black screen of the TV, which stayed off for the rest of the day, slipping in and out of consciousness.

Every time he woke, he still heard the clicking of Andrew’s fingers on his laptop keys.

\---

Things started to change after that, as if Neil completely losing it had flipped a switch in Andrew. It wasn’t that Andrew’s entire personality changed, not by a long shot, but he was just _there_ more. When Neil would come back from his run, Andrew was still in the kitchen. When Neil would finish his breakfast, Andrew would follow him to the living room, laptop already set up on the coffee table.

When Neil would wake up in the middle of the night, Andrew was already on the porch, cigarette in hand. They still barely spoke, but Neil was becoming rapidly used to Andrew’s presence always nearby. Although Andrew would likely never admit it, Neil thought he was maybe starting to get used to him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter I'm planning on doing a little more plot development in terms of Andrew and his writing career and Neil being curious about what exactly Andrew is writing all the time anyway. I just felt I needed to develop them having a rapport before anything like that could happen!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! I finally found some writing inspo again and ran with it until it dropped. Thank you everyone who committed! I really appreciate your kind words and hope you continue to enjoy this story :)

They were a little over halfway through the month when Neil spied a familiar paperback crammed in between the gardening books and cookbook memoirs that overfilled the bookshelves in the living room of their rented cabin. The spine was cracked to all hell, almost entirely obscuring the title, but it was unmistakably an Agatha Christie novel.

It wasn’t exactly Neil’s first choice, or even his second or third, but he had finished the two Minyard books he had brought ages ago and Neil was desperate. Despite the fact that Andrew’s Great Migration to join him in the living room seemed to be largely on the permanent side, Neil had a feeling that if he continued to study the side of Andrew’s head for even one second more, he would end up with a knife in his gut.

So, he had resumed working his way across a bookcase of cookbooks and disturbingly boring family journals that seemed entirely unending until this. _This,_ as far as Neil was concerned, was a treasure trove.

Andrew didn’t even so much as glance up when Neil flopped belly down onto the couch, book in hand.

They had kept the living room TV off ever since Neil had…well…ever since then. So the only sound in the room was the continued rati-tat-tat of Andrew’s fingers slamming against the laptop keys and the woosh of Neil’s breath as he hit the couch a little harder than intended.

Neil was only about 50 pages into the book when a pillow nailed him in the side of the head. It hadn’t hurt, but Neil jerked as if Andrew had dumped scalding water down the length of his back. He was standing before he even realized it, limbs shaky with adrenaline as he stared wild eyed at Andrew.

That shouldn’t have been possible. There was no one, _no one,_ who had ever got the jump on Neil. Not in at least 15 years, not since Neil had learned that being caught out meant ending up dead.

For his part, Andrew’s gaze was impassive. Neil might as well have only blinked for all of the reaction he got.

“That sucks,” Andrew intoned, voice flat, gaze directly on Neil.

“What _sucks_?” Neil hissed, hackles already raised and waiting for a fight.

He couldn’t believe he had let his guard down. What the hell was wrong with him?

“That book. It sucks,” Andrew drawled, the slight press of his lips drawing together the only sign given that he was exasperated with Neil.

Neil looked down to the floor where the book had landed, the cracked spine falling open to some random page in the middle.

The response was surprising enough that Neil was jolted out of the sick churn of his stomach, adrenaline fading just as fast as it had come. “Have you read it?”

Andrew raised a single unimpressed eyebrow. “Don’t ask stupid questions.” 

After a moment, Neil settled down on the edge of the couch. His muscles were still tense, primed to run. But he let himself pick the book up and cradle it in his hands. Some of the pages were bent from how it had landed awkwardly on the ground, and Neil ran his thumb firmly over the creases to try to smooth them out.

“So, what makes you an authority?”

And for the very first time of the entire trip, Andrew smiled at him. It wasn’t a happy smile, nor was it comforting, or friendly, or any of the things other people might expect out of a smile. This smile had an edge, a look that said _if I had fangs, you would see them now._ A smile that said, _if you look away, you’ll regret it._ It was a smile that Neil was intimately familiar with, one that actually made sense to Neil more than any other friendly look he had ever received. 

The smile moved smoothly around his words as Andrew only shrugged and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

\---

Of course, Andrew had noticed the copy of his book thrown carelessly on the coffee table early in their stay. The sight and sudden appearance of the copy had brought him up short. Neil was no where in sight, but his sneakers had been kicked off under the coffee table and Andrew could hear water running in the other bathroom.

It was easy to picture Neil, post-run, sweaty socked feet kicked up on the table, one of Andrew’s books in his hand.

The knot of anger in the pit of Andrew’s stomach was expected. It was the same furious bile that had crawled its way up Andrew’s throat every day since Neil’s first nightmare. Neil Josten wasn’t supposed to be interesting. He wasn’t supposed to be anything.

Neil was the boring, meat head son of a crime boss that Andrew felt confident couldn’t last two seconds against him. Neil was nothing. Less than nothing.

And it made Andrew sick that Neil was trying to be anything in Andrew’s eyes, even unintentionally.

And now he was reading Andrew’s books, holding it in his disgusting sweaty junkie mitts, and Andrew hated him for it. For half a second, Andrew thought about snatching up the book and throwing it away, but it wasn’t worth the drama it would likely incur. So he had grabbed the entire box of brownies from the pantry and slammed his bedroom door hard enough to rattle the wall. He resolved to not talk to Neil again for as long as he lived.

But even that hadn’t lasted long, because Neil was petty and mean and broken and Andrew wanted to press at all the cracks and see what made Neil tick. Neil, who burned Andrew’s cigarettes down to the filter without a single puff, who scoffed at Andrew’s nightly ice cream, who heckled the people in the family journals he read through every day.

Andrew hated him. He truly hated him.

He hated Neil the most the day that he sat a plate in front of him. It looked like a grilled cheese, cut up into small squares.

“What?” Andrew glared at the sandwich, fighting back an answering grumble of his stomach.

He had skipped breakfast this morning, too caught up in his work to stop, but wasn’t about to admit he was hungry. Especially not when Neil sat down on the couch, his own sandwich uncut next to him in a pool of ketchup on the plate.

Looking pointedly at the sandwich, Neil didn’t say a word. He deliberately dipped his grilled cheese in the ketchup slime before glancing away entirely as he ate. The same hangdog Agatha Christie novel was in his hands before Andrew could blink.

Almost against his will, Andrew picked up the plate. He could feel Neil’s eyes on him, but whenever he checked Neil was 100% focused on the paperback in his hand. Andrew glared down at the plate, taking in the evenly cut almost bite size pieces. He wanted to spit on the plate and dump it in Neil’s lap. Instead he turned fully to glare at his housemate.

“Why?”

Neil took another ketchup laden bite, eyes still trained on the page in front of him. “Why what?

“Why did you cut it up?”

Finally, finally Neil looked up. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

It took a tremendous amount of self-control not to flinch. Neil’s response was a slap, and as good as an admission that he had been watching Andrew. Since Andrew had spent so much of the week out in the living room with Neil, it only made since that Neil had seen the way he ate, the way Andrew pulled food apart into tiny little pieces before he ate like a nervous tick.

The living room had been unavoidable, a feeling of necessity Andrew refused inspect too closely forcing him to spend so much time with his unwanted, temporary roommate. Neil turned back to his book and Andrew scowled, ripping the sandwich up viciously before cramming the food into his mouth.

Andrew barely tasted it, registering only that it was your run of the mill grilled cheese. He watched Neil closely for any sign of a smirk or smile, but Neil continued to eat his sandwich steadily as if Andrew wasn’t even in the room.

Neil turned another page of his book, and Andrew ground his teeth.

\---

It was the next day after the Grilled Cheese Debacle when Neil came home from his run and Andrew was nowhere to be seen. The living room, however, was in complete chaos. Stacks of paper covered in red were spread thickly across the coffee table, a tiny neat hand had crammed notes in the margins of every page.

When Neil approached the table, he checked around for Andrew but there was no sign of him other than the hurricane of papers. Some had even spilled out on the floor, unnoticed until Neil heard a page crunch underneath his muddy running shoes.

The idea that Neil maybe shouldn’t look never crossed his mind. If Andrew cared, he wouldn’t have left them out where Neil could find them, of that he was certain. Neil picked up the couple pages beneath his feet, and brushed off some of the dirt to better read the words on the page.

The names and style were recognizable to Neil immediately, Detective Grayson hoping across the page in the same staccato, rapid fire style that was wholly and entirely AJ Minyard. Neil was still reading the page when the backyard door slid open and Andrew walked in.

“Did you leave this on purpose?” Neil asked, flipping the page over to continue reading the paragraph he was on.

Grayson had found a weapon tucked into the nest of the roots of a gnarled tree. Neil smiled when he recognized the reference to the exact tree Andrew had spied on their hike up to the cabin.

By the time Neil finished the page, Andrew still hadn’t replied. When Neil finally glanced up, Andrew had his arms folded across his chest, watching Neil with something that _almost_ looked like curiosity on his blank face.

Neil couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I hope you know stabbing bags of water isn’t the same as a body.”

That seemed to shake Andrew out of his reverie. He stomped up to Neil, wrenching the page from his lax grip. “Fuck you, Josten. At least I can block a goal.”

The shock must have shown on Neil’s face because Andrew’s smirk turned vicious.

“You really didn’t think you could hide did you?”

It wasn’t a choice. It wasn’t even a thought. Neil simply turned on his heel and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about having Neil put ketchup on his grilled cheese, but I am that monster


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm having a little too much fun writing their banter tbh haha

It was dark when Neil finally made it back to the cabin. The muscles in his thighs were shaking, but Neil barely noticed. It was late, late enough that Andrew should have been asleep hours ago, but the living room lights were all turned on.

The porch was thankfully dark, and Neil stood at the door for several long seconds, mentally calculating his route through the floodlights inside. If he could time it when Andrew was looking away maybe he could still sneak in. There was a window in Neil’s bedroom that he had already checked to make sure it opened. It would be a matter of minutes to grab his things and slip out the window unseen.

Neil had never been one to rely on luck, it had never worked for him in the past and he didn’t expect it to start now. But he found himself holding his breath and crossing his fingers anyway as he passed the threshold of the door into the living room. From a surprising stroke of luck, Andrew was actually looking away when Neil peeked into the living room. His blonde head look tousled, as if he had been running his hands through it, as if he had been remotely concerned or remorseful, but Neil knew better.

Neil was already cloaked in the shadow of the hallway, the door to his room just a few feet in front of him. He was almost to his room, his hand reaching out for the knob, when he heard Andrew's voice from a foot behind him. “Where do you think you're going, Josten?”

Neil was convinced he didn't have to answer that. In fact, he didn't even have to turn around. Andrew had shown himself to be as untrustworthy as everyone else in Neil's life had ever been, and he owed him nothing. A couple late night cigarettes and lunches in the living room were not enough to buy Neil.

But even as he told himself that, something made Neil stop and turn around. When they were finally facing each other, Andrew didn't look concerned, or even remotely bothered. He was staring at Neil with an intensity that made him want to stand still and see how long it would go on for.

“How did you know it was me?” Neil asked, despite himself.

For a second it looked as if Andrew wasn't going to answer, but he sighed and shook his head as if Neil was once again the most exhausting person Andrew had ever had the misfortune of meeting.

And yet, if Neil hadn’t known better, he would have said that there was a laugh lurking somewhere in the creases of Andrew's eyes and in the almost unnaturally flat line of his mouth.

When he spoke, Andrew's voice was as devoid of emotion as ever, “Even I can’t avoid Exy entirely.”

Neil felt, categorically, like the most stupid and idiotic person on the planet.

He was so used to having every eventuality planned for, every escape route already known in advance. The fact that it hadn't occurred to him that someone would recognize him from Exy, the sport that had taken the world by storm, was an oversight he could not believe. There was something in Neil's mind that still had him marked as the anonymous son of a power too big to ever make the news. There was a part of Neil's brain that couldn't accept that he was famous, and that his father's face regularly graced television screens around the world as the trial dragged on.

There was a part of Neil that would never be able to accept that he was recognizable now. And it was here, standing in his muddy sneakers and tracking dirt across the hall, while Andrew Minyard stared him down, that Neil was finally being forced to face the consequences of his oversight.

When the silence dragged on for too long, Andrew turned on his heel and trudged back into the living room, leaving Neil standing in the hallway alone. The abrupt dismissal left Neil feeling more than a little deflated as he struggled to decide what to do. 

The idea of going back into his room and climbing through the window as originally planned now felt childish. Neil wasn’t above acting childish now and again, but he didn’t want to give Andrew the satisfaction.

He could imagine Andrew telling Rene later, _And then world famous Exy player Neil Josten climbed out the window like a baby._

Neil huffed as he traced his muddy footprints back into the living room where he found Andrew once again cocooned on the couch.

Ice cream was melting slowly in a large bowl at the edge of the coffee table, a damp ring forming on the edge of a manuscript page that Neil recognized from earlier in the day.

Talking about himself was dangerous, it was a pastime Neil had never wanted to pick up. But it was easy to trace the way Andrew’s fingers danced across the keyboard, one hand holding a page up in the air, his right hand typing quickly despite the fact that he was doing it all one handed.

Neil took a seat on the edge of the chair closest to the hall. His blood was still thrumming in his veins, even as the adrenaline tapered awkwardly off, leaving Neil feeling adrift as each window of opportunity to leave flittered away and fell flat to the floor.

There was a question burning on the back of Neil’s tongue, one that felt easier and safer than the millions of other things Neil wanted to say. He knew he probably wouldn’t get an answer, but he found himself asking anyway, “Are you really Andrew Minyard?”

Andrew pretended not to acknowledge Neil, still typing away until Neil’s body started to thrum again, this time with irritation. Despite that, Neil continued to wait patiently until Andrew lowered the page to his lap.

“Does it matter?” Andrew finally asked, a little sneer smeared across Andrew’s lips.

Distantly, Neil was aware of the fact that the longer he waited to run, the harder it would be as his muscles cooled and the adrenaline left him entirely. He would be exhausted soon, his body betraying him in its rare moments of mutiny.

“Depends.”

Andrew picked up another sheet of paper, “On?”

The word was bitten off, Andrew clearly irritated that Neil was dragging the conversation along at his own pace. It made Neil even more inclined to wait, pulling the silences out so thin until they were liable to snap in the tension.

What did it depend on? Well, Neil didn’t want anything from Andrew, not really. He _did_ want something from AJ Minyard, however. “On the end of the book you’re working on.”

Andrew scoffed, not even glancing Neil’s way as he continued to work.

Neil pursed his lips, suddenly invested in making Andrew talk since he was so reticent and unwilling. “Why did you keep it a secret?”

The retort was quick, barely a moment of thought before Andrew shot back, “Why didn’t you ask?”

“Why didn’t I ask if you were secretly a famous novelist? I don’t know, why didn’t you ask if I was secretly an Exy player on the run from his father,” Neil snarked, frowning in the hope that it masked how much he was enjoying himself.

Andrew finally sat the paper down and looked at Neil, that same level of intensity drilling into Neil’s skull. “I didn’t have to ask, I already knew that.”

“You knew it immediately?”

Nodding, Andrew never broke eye contact. “From day one.”

“And you came?” Neil knew the question didn’t make a lot of sense. He wanted to ask why Andrew would associate with him, why, if he knew, he would put himself in danger like that. Why he would let Neil, a perfect stranger, put him in danger like that.

Andrew looked around them, at the space they had shared for the past several weeks. “No, this is a dream. Welcome to your latest nightmare.”

“What about—” Neil started, but cut himself off. _What about Nathan? What about what happened to anyone close to Neil? What about the fact that half the Exy world was seemingly terrified of Neil and what they thought he could do? What they knew Nathan could do?_

For the first time in since they had arrived at the cabin Andrew looked angry, truly offended at the very notion that Nathan, or anyone, could ever have even the slightest control over Andrew’s life. “Neil, I don’t give a flying fuck about your father or what you think he can do to me. In fact, I’d like to see him try.”

The response was as surprising as it was expected. Neil waited to feel angry, to spit that Andrew didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. But Andrew’s hands were steady as they went back to typing and Neil found he believed him for no other reason than he couldn’t help but feel it had to be true.

Nathan had no control over Andrew, and never would.

“What about me, then?”

Andrew’s eyes were back on his screen and didn’t bother to look at Neil for even a second. “What about you?”

“What about what I could do to you?”

Andrew paused, turning once again in order to level Neil with a look. To his surprise, Neil shivered under the predatory gaze.

“You couldn’t do a single thing to me.”

It was a true statement, one that Neil believed instantly, but had no idea what to do with it. “What about you then?”

Andrew was clearly growing impatient with the conversation, but his body was still as he waited for Neil to continue. “What about me?”

“Should I be afraid of you telling anyone I’m here?”

Andrew scoffed. “You’re asking the wrong question.”

Licking his lips, Neil tried again. “Should I be afraid of you?”

There was no hesitation. “Yes.”

\-----

The conversation ended there, but neither Neil nor Andrew moved from their spots. Neil nodded off, entirely unintentionally, and woke up to a crick in his neck. His body was draped awkwardly over the arm of the chair, and someone had rested a pillow on his arm so it balanced lightly against his neck, entirely pointless.

At first glance, Andrew was nowhere to be found, but then Neil heard a soft clacking in the kitchen. There was no decision made, Neil just went from sitting to standing and then he was walking towards the kitchen.

Andrew had his computer on the counter, two half plates of toast and eggs waiting for the microwave bacon to finish beside him. He was still typing furiously, but lifted one hand briefly to acknowledge Neil’s presence at his back.

“One of those for me?” Neil’s voice was creakier than expected, and he cleared his throat.

“No, this is for the other loser staying in the cabin.”

Neil didn’t know what possessed him to try and _joke_ with Andrew, but the words were out of his mouth before he could consider any possible repercussions. “Ah, so both for you then?”

Automatically Andrew picked up one of the plates and started to carry it to the trash can.

“Ah, wait!” Neil snorted, snagging it out of Andrew’s grasp just as the mouth of the trashcan yawned open beneath it.

From the look Andrew shot him, it was clear to Neil that he thought he had let Neil win. Neil only shrugged and hoisted himself up onto the bar to eat with his hands. When the microwave dinged, Andrew savagely threw the bacon at Neil, only narrowly missing hitting Neil in the eye with grease when Neil’s reflexes kicked in and he snatched both pieces out of the air.

“Thanks!” Neil grinned, a fake cheery smile plastered on his mouth.

Andrew gritted his teeth and turned his back to Neil to finish whatever it was he had been working on all night.

The position gave Neil a prime view of Andrew’s back muscles, peeking out from beneath the thin layer of his black t-shirt. The armbands Neil had barely payed attention to were still in place, but Neil could make out the ropey lines of his forearms all the same. A thought occurred to Neil, one that sunk its teeth in and was not about to let go.

“Hey, you said you were good at goal keeping, right?”


End file.
